#personally he was ugly beforehand

[beetlerings]

Suckening 10 spoilers ig

Broke ass ugly vampire

[cheesecakethots]

“Whore.”

You could’ve sworn the teacup in your hands cracked a little from how hard you’re gripping it. If you were Illumi, it would’ve shattered into a fine powder by now. But you’re not, which makes you susceptible to being called such things.

They’re at it again. You’re unsure as to what you’ve done to upset some of the butlers and maids, but god do they not like you. No matter. You hate everyone in this stupid boring ugly manor anyway. Huh. Maybe that’s why they hate you, too.

It must’ve been a shock to see Illumi of all people one day bring home his future wife. One he never cared to mention to anyone else beforehand, and one that was still kicking and screaming over his shoulder.

You’re not really sure how long you’ve been here. Months? A year now? However long it’s been, it didn’t take anytime at all to realise that maybe you’re not as safe here as Illumi swears you to be. His mother most definitely hates you, but, oh well, she’s never really tried anything, as far as you know.

The help started muttering things when Illumi wasn’t around, things that hurt more than you wanted to admit. When you didn’t go running off to Illumi at the first few instances of it, it got worse, as though they knew you would never tell him about it.

First off, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being your saviour when someone says mean things to you. Secondly, you may hate these assholes, but you have a conscience.

Only last week Illumi came into your shared bedroom, absolutely drenched in blood, asking if you could shower together. You quickly found out that whoever he had been torturing wasn’t dead yet, and he still had more to do.

Thinking about what Illumi does to people he doesn’t care about, those he’s only hurting for a job, makes you shiver at the thought of him actually harming someone who did him, or you, wrong. But, despite your mercy on them, this time you’re considering just telling him. Only a little.

You’ve had a notably stressful day, being pranced around by his mother who’s insistent on ‘training’ you to be the perfect wife for her son. Her explaining to you that the family expects at least six children from you both had you rushing to the bathroom to vomit.

Then you ran into his father, on your way back to your room. He doesn’t seem to actively dislike you, but he scares the absolute shit out of you. The man seems to think you’re some house pet rather than an actual person with thoughts and feelings, but you suppose that’s only a modicum better than wanting you dead.

You also bumped into Illumi’s grandfather. You’re not sure if you can bring yourself to hate him, but you do hate the look of pity in his eyes whenever he sees you. Sometimes he’ll save you from a lecture Illumi’s mother is giving you, so he’s nice in that regard. He’d never free you, though, so he’s just another kidnapper you can’t become friendly with.

You eventually got back to your room, expecting a nice nap before being forced to attend family dinner, only to find Illumi had gotten back earlier than expected. You cringed at how hungry he was, and not for food, but just allowed him to do as he wished. You were too tired to argue. After he was done, he seemed to take note of how quiet and exhausted you were. Too bad, dinner time. You hated dinner times more than anything else.

You ate the admittedly lovely food in pure silence, but quickly became sick to your stomach at hearing Illumi and his mother discuss the prospects of you becoming pregnant. You didn’t eat anymore after that. You’re pretty sure his brother, Milluki, made some comment about you that Illumi didn’t like, which explains why his wrist got snapped in half a few seconds later.

Illumi tried spoon feeding you when noticing how full your plate was, but you managed to convince him that you weren’t hungry. That got you another lecture from his mother about how you’ll soon be eating for two. You were tempted to tell her that if you ever got pregnant you’d throw yourself into Mike’s jaws, but managed to refrain.

After that, you finally got to go to bed. It wasn’t something you were looking forward to anymore; you struggled to sleep when Illumi was home because he’d spend the majority of the night just staring at you.

“Can I go outside?”

You don’t remember why you blurted it or where the thought came from, but you remember the confused blink Illumi gave in response.

“Um.. just for.. ten minutes? O-Or five..? I just want to sit in the garden by myself for a bit… If not, it’s alright..”

You hated how pathetic you sounded, unsure as to what Illumi was thinking when he stared at you with that expressionless face.

“Alright.”

“What?”

“Would you like me to ask a maid to bring you out a cup of tea?”

You didn’t really think about his words too much, just happy you got something your way for once, and nodded rather enthusiastically. You should’ve said no.

The first few minutes of being in the garden, sat on the bench and allowing the cool nights breeze to settle on your skin had you relaxing for the first time in a while.

“Your tea, mistress.”

Oh. It was one of the ones you were sure hated you, and behind him was another. Oh, well. You took the tea from his hands, thanking them nonetheless.

It was much more bitter than you liked it, but you didn’t complain. You didn’t really want tea in the first place. They didn’t leave, but you didn’t complain. Illumi probably asked them to watch over you, maybe to make sure you didn’t try to run. It’s alright, you still have a nice view to relax with.

“Whore.”

Your eyes widen a little, and your grip on the cup increases. They continue muttering amongst themselves, but you catch small, demeaning phrases that you’re certain are aimed at you.

Why are you a whore? You’d never even had sex before you met Illumi, and if you had, it wouldn’t be their business. You’re hardly allowed to interact with anyone other than who Illumi allows you to. Where would you have the chance to sleep around? The insult doesn’t make much sense.

That’s what you tell yourself, despite the fact that your shoulders and hands are shaking and you feel something cold and wet running down your cheeks.

Shit.

You put the cup on the floor, hands moving to cover your face and wipe away any evidence of tears. Illumi hated when you cried.

Why are you still crying? What they said doesn’t make any sense. Stop crying, enjoy the view. You don’t have long left before you have to go back inside.

You’re still crying. You don’t notice that it’s gone eerily silent aside from your own muffled sobs, too busy working on shutting yourself up.

“[Name].”

Shit. Shit!

He’s been sat next to you for god knows how long now, and you didn’t even realise. God, this sucks.

“Why are you crying?” Illumi asks, and you can feel him move closer to you on the bench.

“I-I’m not,” you say, a hand still covering your eyes. What excuse do you give? If you say hay fever will he never let you out in the garden again? If you say you have a cold, will he keep you inside your bedroom for a few weeks? Months?

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him staring at you.

“Would you like to stay outside for a bit longer?”

Oh.

“Ye-Yeah. Y-Yes please,” you eventually reply, gulping down another sob.

He doesn’t leave, but you’re less bothered by his presence than usual. Despite it being… him, it’s not horrible to have some company, even though you’d never admit it out loud.

You’re not sure how long you sit outside before he stands, prompting you to do the same. Neither of you say anything, not until you reach your bedroom and Illumi tells you in a tone softer than you’d usually hear from him that he has something he must do, so you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.

You turn to go to bed, but he grabs your wrist. He doesn’t look at you for a moment, seemingly considering something. Then, he stiffly leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead rather robotically. Sometimes you wonder if he is a robot, it really would explain a lot.

The kiss ends soon after it begins.

“Get some rest. You look bad.”

You huff a little, but can’t bring yourself to actually be offended due to the thinly veiled concern in his tone.

The sleep you get is better than you expected. Maybe not having a mass murderer eyeing you up while you try and rest is a reason for that.

Illumi doesn’t show up for the entirety of the next day, which is a little strange. He likes seeing you off in the morning, giving you a kiss before he departs - you’re certain he copied it from a romance movie you used to enjoy watching from time to time. You don’t question his absence too much, you don’t exactly enjoy his company, after all.

The day you have is better than the last. Illumi’s mother seems to be a bit less of a bitch than usual. That’s a win in your book.

It doesn’t take long for you to be back in your warm bed, wrapped up in covers and drifting off to sleep.

You wake up to the feeling of something wet hitting the tip of your nose, and quiet breathing above you.

“Are you awake?”

You are now. It’s pitch black in the room, but you can make out Illumi looming over, his hair framing around you like some makeshift cage.

Still sleepy, you groan a little, “Illumi? What… time is it?”

Something wet hits the bed.

“2:57 AM.”

Huh. You breathe in through your nose. Illumi absolutely reeks. Metallic, is it? You’re not sure it’s the best idea to comment on it.

“Oh. Okay.”

Another drip of something onto the blanket. He doesn’t seem to be in the talking mood.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“… Yes.”

Another.

You gulp. “Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t think so.”

Another drip, this time it hits your arm.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes narrow in the darkness.

“No.”

The silence is deafening. Your hands clutch onto the end of the blanket. He leans impossibly closer, and the stench of whatever is on him becomes all to familiar. He’s smelt like it before, but never this strong.

“How long were the help bothering you?”

“Since I got here.” There’s little point in trying to lie about it now.

“If you hide something from me again I’ll break three of your fingers.”

A little specific, but the threat certainly does the job.

“Okay. I’m… sorry.” You’re not.

Finally, he pulls away, eyes still trained on your face.

“Go to sleep.”

You don’t. You’re certain that you can’t, at least not for tonight. Especially not after hearing him turn the shower on, and after he’s done leave the room once more.

Instead, you sit and stare at the ceiling, and wonder if any of those in the basement will even have three fingers left of them, by the time he’s done.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Bound to Apologise

Summary: Aemond upsets his wife and forms a punishment fit for a Prince, feat. subby!Aemond | Word Count: 5.6k | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: subby!Aemond x wife!reader, p in v, oral (m receiving), use of a belt as bondage, orgasm denial, breeding kink I guess, Aemond blueballs Targaryen

When one thinks of Aemond Targaryen, a few descriptors come to mind.

 Stoic, stiff, perhaps brazen on occasion and when the opportunity should present itself, he has quite the silver tongue. He is a man who is sure of himself in identity, fiercely proud of his Targaryen ancestry, his skills with the sword and his deep and well-founded knowledge of history and philosophy, a fact he rivals smugly against his older brother at any occasion he is able.

 It is not as if Aegon cares much for rivalries of the mind. No, Aegon’s knowledge that is worthy of bragging in his mind is that of the flesh, and he makes sure to flaunt such knowledge in Aemond’s face at any chance.

 That is until Aemond took a wife.

 It had been almost half a year since Aemond was wed to his sweet wife in the Sept. An arranged affair, of course, and the two had scarcely seen one another beforehand, so even now he remembered the way he held his hands behind his back, wound tight with nerves, wondering what kind of person she was. It felt wrong to be tied so intimately and indefinitely to another person without really truly knowing them.

 She had smiled sweetly on that day, kissed him softly once their vows were exchanged, a faint blush at her cheeks while standing before her now husband. The wife of Aemond Targaryen. It felt so final, and she could not help the fluttering in her stomach.

 Aemond on the other hand had barely cracked a smile, simply kissed her, as he was duty-bound to do, and said his vows. She was pretty, yes. But he almost felt bad. What did this woman, illuminated so softly by the warm rays of light, have to gain by marriage to someone she surely found repulsive? Aemond hadn’t missed the various hushed conversations his mother had with Otto, the door cracked slightly ajar.

 He had a reputation amongst the ladies. Some desired him purely for his title and placing their family name on a high podium, their future children into the bargain. Some were repulsed by his fiery temper, those long, hard looks he gave everyone. And perhaps most notably, they were frightened of the One-Eyed Prince, on this moniker alone. ‘Aemond One-Eye would never find a wife’.

 Despite the incident being several years ago, it still raised its ugly head every now and then, in the form of self-consciousness, hushed female whispers and side-glances throughout the Keep. Most Lords and Ladies appreciated his skills from afar, never treading that delicate path in between that would bring them closer to him, which is precisely why it was difficult to even court a woman. Nevermind marriage.

 And yet, when his new wife had looked upon him at their wedding feast, she’d given him a sweet smile, looked deeply into his good eye and showed no signs of repulsion. It confused him for a moment. Was she making a mockery of him? By pretending not to be afraid or repelled by him on purpose? Hiding what she truly felt inside. Holding the bile in her throat at the thought of consummation? He blamed her flush on her face on the two cups of wine she had consumed.

 He was immensely relieved to have been proven wrong.

 Once the chamber doors were closed, she was clearly nervous, as any young maiden would be on her wedding night. With every aching second she removed the pins from her hair, Aemond stood before the fireplace, his heart hammering in his chest with nerves. He didn’t want to have to bare his soul to her. He didn’t know her. And the thought of forcing such a delicate little thing to gaze upon his affliction, watching her face contort into one of disgust, was eating away at his insides, his insecurities feeding on the buzz of the wine.

 She looked so pure and gentle in her off-white, thin chemise, leaving extremely little to the imagination. And with her hair down, waved from the braids, she looked positively mythical.

 Aemond swallowed and began to unclasp his doublet. She must have seen his true feelings beneath his poorly-hidden expression, because she’d stopped before him, a small hand laid delicately on his arm. A silent confirmation, that she was just as nervous as he was.

 “I do not wish to frighten you, my lady”

 Her heart could have broken, but instead it merely shuddered with his words.

 “Do you believe you frighten me?” she asked.

 Aemond’s silence had confirmed it.

 “You are my husband. And I, your wife. You may show me as much of yourself as you deem comfortable and I will not judge”

 Though brief, her comforting words gave him the confidence to consummate their marriage. At first it was clumsy, the way their lips had pressed against one another, and the clamouring at her body, laid entirely bare for him to feast upon. As with any wedding night, there was some discomfort, both for her and him, but for different reasons.

 But he was gentle, which surprised her and elated her in equal measure. And the sting of the loss of the maidenhead gave way to blooming pleasure, alongside something else. Perhaps a closeness that neither of them expected to have after just a few hours of knowing one another. But she hadn’t shied away from him, as he expected her to. On occasion during the act, she held his face so softly he trembled, struggling to fathom that this woman wanted him.

 They had left it only an hour before he was inside her again, where he now found sanctuary in her acceptance of him.

 In the moons that had passed since then, she had been his haven. His escape. She was so good to him, accepting of his desire to take his time in showing himself to her.

 Three moons after their wedding night, he finally pulls off his eyepatch, after a particularly long evening of lovemaking. She was laid next to him, the bed sheets tucked around her chest. Her lips parted when she saw what he’d been hiding underneath his eyepatch all this time, and she felt an undeniable closeness to him that was not there before.

 His scar felt raised beneath the gentleness of her fingers, but it was a look of sheer wonder, watching the way the sapphire that replaced his eye adopted the amber glow of the candles.

 Aemond felt his heart thunder and his cock get hard, when all she asked was for him to fuck her again.

 And he did with a new-found enthusiasm, a warm feeling blossomed in his chest, holding her form beneath him and fucking her relentlessly into the mattress, so hard that the bedframe struggled. He moaned loudly, giving her his seed and praying that it took, so that he could see his precious wife grow round with his child.

 It took him an entire moon to figure out that he not only respected her, but had come to love her.

 His wife, shy and timid perhaps at first, had become rather a force to be reckoned with. Their intimacy with one another had awakened something not only in her, but in him as well. At first, he delighted in having power and dominance over her, being quite a lot taller and broad, which he was wholly proud to have on display in the comfort of their chambers. He loved every little one of her whines and moans, drawing peak after devastating peak from her until she quivered in his touch.

 It had become a nightly routine. Sometimes several times in one night.

 Who would have thought that Aemond Targaryen, every now and then, enjoyed having such power taken away sometimes.

 It had started innocently enough. After so many moons being married and proving their love to one another every night, his sweet wife had sought for some variety and instead had clambered on top of him and sank on his cock, guiding the pace herself. Her hands steadied on his chest for leverage, her backside smacking against his thighs with every rough thrust of herself onto him.

 Alongside the dizzying feeling of watching his cock disappear into her cunt over and over, reaching new places in this new position, he found being held down exhilarating. Dare he say, even pleasurable. It made something wind tight as a bowstring in his gut.

 It seemed like she noticed this, as a lazy smirk graced her face.

 Ever since then they had experimented with that sensation. The feeling of one partner having full control, being held down, even tied sometimes. It was something reserved solely for them, behind their chamber doors. In the morning, when they break their fast with his family, he is once again the stone-faced, stoic Aemond Targaryen.

 Although it does not stop her from shooting knowing grins in his direction on the odd occasion, which makes his cheeks go a very fair pink, the tips of his ears burn and his breeches get inexplicably tighter.

 He enjoys this new side to his wife. It was buried deep, but now that he sees it, it never fails to surprise him.

 Which brings him to this moment. The moment when he knows he has said or done something to irk her.

 Her sister had arrived at the Red Keep alongside her father to visit her for a few days. Unlike his dear wife, her sister was still young and unmarried, and unbearably innocent. As soon as Aegon had laid his eyes on her little sister, his eyes gleamed with mischief, as if he’d seen a shiny new version of his favourite toy, but one that was actually available.

 He wasn’t even deterred by the firm look she’d given him.

 She and her sister walked arm in arm to the main hall, where they would dine all together that evening. Her sister spoke excitedly, happy to be brought to the Red Keep for the first time and to be reunited with her beloved eldest sibling.

 Aemond and Aegon were chatting idly at the table when they’d arrived, her sister went to one side of the table to be sat next to their father. The two brothers, who usually were not so well-acquainted and chatting in such a friendly manner, were so engrossed in their conversation and their cups, that they barely acknowledged her presence.

 All the better that Aemond’s back was to her as well.

 “She is a lovely looking girl, but it is a shame she is so terribly dim-witted” Aegon chuckled, “A family trait, I presume?”

 Aemond, dizzy from the effects of his wine, chuckled.

 “Perhaps”

 She’d bitten her cheek in frustration. Was he so deep in his cups that he actually found Aegon funny? Not only that, but had humoured him in insulting not only her sister’s intelligence, but his own wife’s as well.

 She pulled her chair out beside him loudly, and Aemond went red and jumped in surprise, dread prickled all over his skin. She gave him a mischievous, knowing smile as she sat, “Husband” is all she greeted him with.

 Aegon, who found the entire situation hilarious, had left him with that and as Aemond took his seat next to his wife, straight-backed and instantly sober, he bit his lips several times throughout the evening. She didn’t spare him a single word nor glance, unless he spoke to her directly, in which she forced a pleasant enough smile to her face and gave him one word answers. Playing the pliant little wife, while at the same time letting him know that he would not get off so easily.

 She thought, once, that she may have taken her retribution a bit too far. But it was fun if nothing else, to watch how frustrated Aemond got.

 She did not lay with him that night, nor the night after. Nor the night after that.

 When her sister and father departed King’s Landing, he thought this might be the reprieve. But he was wrong.

 It had been a full week since he had touched his wife intimately, not because he didn’t want to, he’d tried a fair few times. But every time, she had dismissed him with that playful smirk, the same one she had when she’d clambered atop his lap for the first time. And though her outfits and mannerisms remained the same as always, after being denied the pleasure of his flesh to hers for so long, every sway of her hips, every glint of her eyes and every movement of her hands had his breeches pathetically tight.

 She knew what she was doing as well, the little tease.

 He was aching. And it became too much. Not only did she deprive him of her sweet, tight cunny. She barely spoke to him. And the silence and barely-contained need to be inside her, was all too much to bear.

 She was in their chambers, sat before the fire, a large tome open in her lap and when she’d heard the chamber doors shut, her eyes had met that of an extremely pent up husband.

 But instead of greeting him, she bit back a smile and turned back to her book.

 That little-

 “Wife” he greeted through gritted teeth.

 “Husband”

 She didn’t fool him with the sweetness of her voice.

 “What are you doing?” he asked, half-desperate and half-irritated as he crossed the room to sit opposite her.

 “Reading, my love. So that I may grow to have acceptable intelligence”

 His nostrils flare in annoyance, and yet he can’t deny the way she acts has a profound effect on him, after a week of not being able to have her, he’s desperate for anything. Even just the brushing of her hand, he is convinced, would make him spill in his breeches.

 “You know as well as I that is not what I meant”

 She slowly closes the book, righting to stand in front of him, her eyes trickling over his form. She knows him well now. Knows how underneath this cold exterior he offers up to her, is a desperate man underneath, yearning for a taste of her affections. His body sparks up at her hungry eyes over him.

 “Then I do not know what you mean, husband” she replies, barely able to stop the spread of her smile, “You shall have to elaborate”

 His hands form tight fists. She’s right there, ripe for the taking, his sweet wife. How easy would it be to sling her over his shoulder and take her right there on the bed, still dressed in her finery, with her skirts rucked up over her hips.

 “I mean-” he starts, “-you and I have not laid together for the better part of a week”

 She cocks her head, “Oh? Is that so?” she answers sweetly, “Forgive me, I hadn’t noticed”

 He’s stunned into a sort of shocked silence, mouth slightly open, but without the headspace to form a reply. His wife pretended to busy herself with other things, placing the book back and dusting the covers, something she knew would get him riled up.

 “What is this game, wife”

 When she turns to him with that faux-innocence smile on her face, unable to hide how amused she is at how outwardly her husband is showing his frustration, Aemond can feel his limbs go numb.

 “I do not believe you are in any position to accuse me of anything, husband” she counters, crossing the room in deliberately small steps, “In fact, I do believe I am owed an apology of sorts”

 Her brow twitches slightly. She knows. She knows she has him exactly where she wants him.

 As much as he tries to ignore the way her attitude makes his breeches get tighter, all of his blood goes straight below his waistline.

 “But I can see, in your true Targaryen male nature, that you will not apologise…with words that is” she says, a wider smile gracing her face. An almost mischievous one.

 Aemond swallows thickly.

 He clears his throat, blinking a few times at what she just said, “Perhaps…you might enlighten me on how I can make amends”

 Got you.

 “Give me your belt” she instructs.

 It’s borderline pathetic, the speed in which he tries to unbuckle it from his doublet and his fingers fumble with the silver, the embarrassment evident in the way it clinks clumsily. He pulls it through the loops and extends the leather towards his wife. She lets his hand hang there for a moment, as if to extend his internal torment, before she takes it, her fingers slipping over the roughened edges.

 “Take off your clothes, leave your breeches on” her voice is clipped and deadly serious, “then get on the bed”

 She watched from the foot of the bed as he did, twisting the belt in her hands as she regarded him. Saw the way his breath had hitched as she instructed him to do something and the way his pupils swallowed the violet of his eye. He was desperate. And the longer she went without saying or doing anything, the more the excitement and anticipation was starting to build in his core.

 “My dear husband” she says, still fully clothed but clambering onto the bed beside him, “You have wronged me in a manner most unbefitting”

 Her voice was low, the same way it would be when they were alone together, coupling.

 Gently she pulls both his wrists together, tying them first before raising them to the bed frame, sliding the leather through the buckle and pulling his skin flush to it. She pulls on it a few times, to make sure it is secure. Smiling down at him when she confirms he is not able to move.

 His chest moves hurriedly, a warm, fluttering expectancy erupts in his gut.

 “And all you have been able to think about is our coupling, or rather lack of” she smirks, pulling a large pin from her hair so it falls around her shoulders. Looking up at his dear wife from this angle, in this position, will never cease to be thrilling.

 Her small fingers slide under his eyepatch, depositing it on the bedside, so that she may see all of him.

 He would never ever reveal beyond their chambers how he enjoys to see her, eyes half-shut looking down at him, exerting her own version of dominance over him. And he was eternally grateful that she never told a soul either. It would embarrass him beyond measure. He could only stand to be embarrassed in front of her.

 Even though she was very much in charge, she did so in her own feminine way. Used her body differently, her words even.

 He doesn’t think he will ever tire of it.

 “Would you like to fuck me, husband” she asks low, nudging his knees apart so that she can kneel between them. It doesn’t fail to set his blood alight, the way she says such vulgar things…and make it sound so right.

 As her fingers begin to undo his breeches, his hips move and so do his hands against the bed frame. It sets that grin on her face again.

 “Yes, I do…I have missed you”

 Her fingers start to peel his breeches from his hips, exposing the pale skin underneath, and he almost sighs in relief to feel her soft hands on his bare skin.

 She cocks her head, looking at him, “What makes you think I will let you fuck me?”

 A sort of dread…disappointment  pools in his stomach, but alongside that, arousal. He cannot tell if she is serious or merely teasing him, and it is the in-between of not knowing that makes his head feel as if there is cotton stuffed into it instead of thoughts.

 “Fucking is a reward” she starts, “and you have not been good”

 Once his breeches are off, or at least down to his toned thighs, enough where she can see his manhood, aching and swollen against his taut abdomen, hardened from his years of training with the sword. The tip is flushed, the same colour as his lips, with a milky arousal leaking from it. She is sure that with one touch, he could simply come undone, and it makes her smirk wickedly.

 “I will forgive you…on one condition”

 Gods, how badly he wants her to just touch him already. With his cock now exposed to them both, her hands so close, it’s borderline unbearable to be teased like this.

 “Anything, please…”

 A flush blossoms on her cheeks. She always did like it when he begged.

 “You must not peak, until I say”

 Aemond almost goes bright red. This is territory that has not been tread before. And yet, he can’t deny the excitement it sends through him, the way the air is instantly knocked out of his lungs, and how his hands tug slightly against the belt.

 He outright moans as her small hand encircles his cock, giving a few languid pumps, squeezing when she gets to the tip, brushing her thumb over the sensitive slit. Now that she has given her order, her demand, all he can seem to think about is his peak, and how hard he is concentrating to not do it too soon.

 “You seem more sensitive than usual, husband” she coos, her other hand placed on his thigh, only barely squeezing, “have you missed me that much?”

 “Yes…” he responds through slightly gritted teeth, unable to take the breathiness out of his tone.

 “Hm” she hums, dipping her head to his waistline, making him suck in a quiet breath, “Let us see if you can be good then”

 She flatters her tongue against the underside of his length, dragging up achingly slow to the slit, her hand still applying pressure as she makes her way up. When she gets to the slit, her eyes meet her husband's.

 There's that damn smile again.

 Aemond shudders a breath, looking into her eyes while she has his cock on her tongue is only spurring him on, so he shuts his eyes, tipping his head back against the pillows. His hands tug at the belt. Wanting morning more than to just run his fingers through her hair.

 "Look at me" she orders.

 When he does, his jaw slackens, cheeks warm as her hot mouth envelops him entirely. Pushing down to take more of him, her hand strokes whatever else she cannot fit. Aemond watches her take him with every slow bob of her head, pushing his cock against her hot throat, warm, wet and inviting.

 If he is good, he may get something else.

 From this angle, her breasts are dangerously close to spilling from her dress, and he watches them move as she continues to suck him, her tongue curled up to press against the prominent vein on the underside. After a week of not having him, she relishes the taste of him. How he smells faintly of sweat and leather, and how badly she wants more of it.

 She plunges her mouth down further, til her lips are against the base and Aemond moans out loudly. His tip lodges the back of her throat, and while well endowed, she has learned to take him as deep as she can, until she softly gags, tightening her throat around him.

 She is testing him. Seeing how far she can push him as she pleasures him with a renewed vigour, humming around him, sending little jolts of pleasure up his spine.

 It was his biggest weakness, taking him into her mouth. And to be so clearly pleased to do it as well. Merely watching the way his length disappears between her plush lips is nothing short of heavenly.

 He bets her cunny is wet from this alone.

 It very nearly makes him peak, those sparks are there most certainly. Especially the way her throat contracts around him.

 But he holds back the reins. For now.

 She pulls off him with a soft, wet pop, making a show of licking her lips to taste his precum.

 "You are blushing, my love" she says, and he knows even without looking she is smirking again.

 "Please…" he murmurs, "...do not tease me any longer"

 She cocks her head again, pretending to not know what he means.

 "Is my mouth inadequate?"

 He shakes his head quickly, feeling his hair begin to stick to his nape with the effort of holding back his peak.

 "No-no…I just need you"

 "Need what" she grins, moving to straddle him.

 Aemond's eye widens here. Her dress is fanned out, and underneath he feels her bare form pressed against his aching cock.

 The vixen had not had small clothes on this entire time.

 And after using her mouth to pleasure him, she was soaked.

 It was most like her. She always did everything with purpose. Always one step ahead.

 She smiles when she sees it click in his mind and she moves her hips, dragging her slick over his length, making his eye flutter.

 "Say it"

 He swallows, tugging against the belt. He half thinks of requesting to touch her. But he knows she would not allow it.

 "I need to be inside you"

 She raises her eyebrows.

 "Please" he finishes.

 She pulls the front of her dress up, to give him a good view of her wet cunny, spreading her slick over him and he almost moans at just that. It's a sight to behold. The feeling…even more indescribable.

 "My poor, silly husband" she coos, taking his length in her hand, using her palm to coat the entirety with her arousal, "...you came here to say something. Now is the time"

 She raises her hips, his tip not even touching her, but the anticipation of it is too much. Aemond, almost subconsciously, bucks his hips up. Only to be met with her pushing him back down.

 "Stay still" she says firmly, "or you will not fuck me at all"

 His chest moves quickly, clenching his fists, his whole body feeling unbearably hot.

 She waits, with that glint in her eye. She really would do it. She would clamber off him and not fuck him, just for the satisfaction that she knew he wanted her, and that it had been denied.

 "I…apologise…" he mutters quietly.

 She doesn't move.

 "For?"

 He grunts, frustrated. Too busy thinking of him sliding through her folds, nestled in her cunny.

 "For saying such things about you…"

 She tuts, with an amused grin, "We shall test your loyalty, husband. Remember…you need my permission"

 Whatever Aemond was going to say is stuck in his throat as she sinks on him, enveloping him entirely in her slick heat. She does it slowly, so that he might feel every inch of her, every ridge inside. And when her backside sits on his thighs, moving her hips side to side, his tip nudges her sweet spot, the curve of his long, delicious length finding it effortlessly.

 He has to briefly close his eye, not look at her, so that he doesn't get too overwhelmed. After a week of not having her, she feels so perfectly tight, so much so it feels as if her cunt is milking him already. He cannot get too tied up in the feeling, lest he lose her forgiveness.

 The sound he lets out when she begins to move is almost pained, one that feels like it takes all his strength from his muscles.

 He looks up at her, her hair cascading over her shoulders with every shallow thrust inside, with that tell-tale pink to her cheeks from the effort of it. He can feel her arousal weeping out of her, coating his length and smacking against the base, that alongside his barely-contained moans.

 Her hands trail up his bare torso and he can feel gooseflesh erupt in the path she leaves. Her soft palms trace the expanse of his chest, and she doesn’t miss the way his stomach muscles tense up as she hastens her pace while she touches him. It’s only when her fingers apply a feather-like touch against his nipples that she finally gets a breathy moan from him.

 It only adds more fuel to her fire.

 Every touch, as small as they are, with how pent up Aemond had been, is hurtling him towards that edge. He can feel every inch of her perfect insides, squeezing him as she nears even herself. His stomach does flips, a familiar flutter getting stronger inside.

 “Please…wife…” she barely manages to say.

 She smiles, her chest moving quickly with the effort of their lovemaking. Her thighs ache in the most wonderful way, her cunt stretching around his girth, the tip kissing her end, filling her so deliciously.

 “Please what”

 “I want to touch you…please” he begs, his fists still tight and pressed against the bed frame.

 He takes a much needed breath when she slows down, merely circling her hips against his pelvis instead.

 “Are you close, my love?” she asks sweetly, leaning up to grasp the belt in one hand.

 Aemond nods, not trusting his own voice, lest it betray the inner turmoil inside. But she sees it. She doesn’t miss a thing.

 She cocks her head, half of her wants to reprimand him for not using his words to reply to her. But the other half feels how his cock throbs inside her, aching for completion, to paint her walls with his spend.

 “Very well” she smirks, undoing his bondage, “but you may only touch me here”

 She guides his now free hands to her clothed hips, keeping hers on top to make it clear how serious she is. Even now, merely touching her, through clothes it doesn't matter, it’s like some kind of torture.

 He grabs her hips tightly and backs himself up against the pillow in a half-sitting position, causing his length to press up inside her, he doesn’t miss the small gasp she emits. She’s close as well, he can tell.

 He fucks up into her with renewed passion, and her head tilts back, her lips parted only slightly to allow her quiet but wanton moans to slip out. Her sounds are like a reward. But he knows he is still denied the greatest one of all. One that seems more and more difficult to hold back the tighter she clenches around him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his wrists. There was something exciting about her being fully clothes while he fucked her. It almost felt forbidden. But exciting all the same.

 He can feel her slowly losing her resolve as he pounds harshly into her, as if he is letting out all his frustrations.

 “-Fuck…Aemond…” she breathes, “-Don’t stop-”

 His breath comes in hurried pants, wanting her to feel good but at the same time holding himself back. He can feel the pressure inside, fit to burst at any moment.

 “My perfect wife…”

 “-Aemond, I’m close-”

 She pulls up the front of her dress, her small slender fingers diving between her legs to apply pressure to her pearl, and she inadvertently tightens around him at the combined pleasure.

 He is not sure if he can last much longer. Forgiveness be damned, he wants to see his spend leak from her.

 “My love, I-”

 She looks down at him, a lazy, fucked-out smile on her face, her hair sticking slightly to her forehead.

 “-Yes, husband…fuck your heir into me…”

 His eye widens at the vulgarity, but his throat tightens at the challenge and he slams so deep inside her with a shocking collection of desperate thrusts. She continues to circle her slick over her bud until the buzz floods into her limbs with a choked cry, her body trembling in the bruising hold he has of her hips.

 He fucks her all the way through it, now that he has been given the permission he so desired, he craves it like hunger. It feels like it takes everything out of him, the wind surely knocked from his lungs, as he finally stills inside her, feeling the warm, familiar flood of his spend deep against her womb, completely emptying himself until he aches.

 Aemond never lets up on his grip, holding her tightly to ensure she has all of it, and he gives a few additional shallow thrusts that make her cry out, hoping his seed will take and she will grow round with child for him. The thought alone makes him want to keep her in their chambers all day if he has to.

 Their eyes meet, the only sound is both of their breathing. Her own eyes flicker from his seeing one, to the sapphire, and a soft, contented smile, not the same mischievous one as earlier, makes its way to her face. It encourages him to do the same.

 “I could stay in your perfect cunt forever…” he breathes, his chest moving steadily.

 She hums a laugh. It is certainly something he would say.

 “Am I forgiven?” he asks, eyebrows moved only slightly, like he is expecting a witty response.

 His wife pretends to think, her fingers touched to her lips. And with his softening cock still nestled inside her, she leans forward to lay a tender kiss on her husband, her delicate, soft lips pressed so gently to his, in a manner that contradicts the sensuality of what they had just done.

 When she breaks, her forehead pressed against his and her hand cupping his face, she wrinkles her nose playfully.

 “I shall think about it”

 When one thinks of Aemond Targaryen, a few descriptors come to mind.

 Stoic, stiff, perhaps brazen on occasion. With not a soft bone in his body.

 Who would have thought, that sometimes, he enjoyed letting that persona slip, just for a moment.

 But only ever with her.

dividers by @firefly-graphics​

General Taglist:  @risefallrise @valeskafics @theoneeyedprince @thelittleswanao3 @hb8301

Aemond Taglist:  @m00n5t0n3 @boofy1998 @merakiaes​ @hanihoney88 @let-love-bleeds-red​ @bellaisasleep​ @watercolorskyy @heavenley1927 @ryswritingrecord @partypoison00 @gaeela-6 @saeselkie @padfooteyes @introverbatim @queenofshinigamis @thatkingofgirl @ryswritingrecord @dahlias-and-marigolds @triscy

[charliedawn]

Hey I was wondering how do you think the slashers would react if they're s/o was wearing a piece of their clothing or mask (for the masked ones)? Honestly I think if Michael found his s/o wearing (or even touching...) His mask that's a killable offense right there lmao.

Jason Voorhees:

Jason was asleep when you took his mask. When he woke up and didn't find it—he started panicking.

He made a mess out of his bedroom in a desperate attempt to find it and locked his door so that nobody could come in.

You frowned as you found the door locked and knocked on the door.

"Jason ? Are you alright ?"

He wasn't.

He hesitated to open the door, but you then slid his mask back to him through the door.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to surprise you."

He understood what had happened and opened the door a little to look at you. You seemed genuinely sorry and he finally opened the door for you to come in.

Jason wears the mask for a reason. He is insecure to the extreme. It's the only way for him to hide himself and if it had been anyone else than you ?

...That person would have been dead and buried.

Brahms Heelshire:

Brahms actually woke up when you were looking at yourself in the mirror with his mask on.

He seemed stunned for a moment before he silently got out of bed to stand next to you.

Once you saw him in the mirror, you turned around. You were ready to apologize, but then saw the way he was looking at you.

He wasn't angry. Far from it. He just stared at you and smiled before slowly removing the mask from your face.

He then put it back on his and took a deep breath—as if smelling it. He then hummed appreciatively and wrapped his arms around you.

"...Brahms' mask smells good now." He whispered and held you closer.

…

Well—that backfired.

Vincent Sinclair:

Panic. Immediate and irreversible panic.

Unlike Brahms or Jason, Vince is deeply ashamed of his face. It isn't about being insecure or having a couple of scars. He is TERRIFIED of his own reflection.

Vincent used to be attached to Bo. Being twins at birth, it made him feel as if there was someone out there who understood him.

But, the mask is a mark of shame—the constant reminder that that connection is severed. And he feels ugly because of it. Because he was disfigured from the operation—while Bo wasn't.

They are different now, when there were supposed to be one and the same.

Plus, he’s only got one mask. It took time to make as he had to get Bo to agree to mould a mask with his face.

So, he would get mad. He would also be pretty physical about getting it back.

He COULD hurt you.

Do not steal his mask, unless you are absolutely sure and asked permission beforehand.

Michael Myers:

...You have a death wish. There is no other possible explanation.

Michael values his mask more than anything in this world.

He hides his face for a reason. It became a part of him over time and he HATES when people see his true face.

So, do not steal his mask.

But, I don’t think you’d be able to anyway.

Michael almost never takes it off and if anyone tried to take his mask away ? Wrists would get crushed. Just saying.

Freddy Krueger:

"If you take the hat, sweetheart…Be ready to face the consequences."

Freddy LOVES his hats (Yes. Plural. He’s got a full drawer of them in his room)

He counts them all before going to bed and when he saw that one of them was missing, he was ready to track the person down and draw blood.

But, when he understood you were the little thief, he smirked and simply closed the door behind him. He then sat down and grinned mischievously at you.

"Looks good on ya. But since you stole it…How about you offer me a show as compensation, hmm ?" *pats his lap and smirks*

Sleazy lil’ goblin to the end.

Pennywise:

If by some MIRACLE, you managed to get Pennywise’s gloves…He’d be furious. Pennywise hates touching people and his gloves are like a second skin to him.

Pennywise *appears behind you and screeches*: "GIVE THEM BACK THIS INSTANT, YOU STUPID HUMAN !"

Pennywise is usually pretty chill. So, for him to get really mad ? Yeah…No stealing the clown’s gloves. Never.

Bo Sinclair:

Bo's cap is his own way of hiding his insecurity. He has a scar at the back of his ear from the operation to separate him from Vince.

He doesn’t like people looking at it, so he wears that cap all the time.

One day, you decided to remove it while he was sleeping, and he grabbed your wrist before you could run away with it.

He then smirked and tutted playfully.

"Careful, darls. You take my cap, I take your life."

You knew he was only kidding, but there was also a little bit of a warning in his eyes.

He likes his cap. It’s the only thing he got left from his dad and his tolerance is zero. So, do not try to steal his cap, or ask first. He would allow you to wear it eventually, but still…Bo is not someone to be messed with.

[let-spretend]

bi-han x reader but the reader is flirty !! this was a requested fic over on ao3 ! i was sort of hesitant about doing it since personally i think bi-han is a difficult character to write and i was afraid it was going to be ooc. but i still wanted to give it a shot !! i do use Y/N in this fic, but it is gender-neutral.

sorry for just a drabble! and i will be stopping requests! thinking of starting a batman fanfic...

bi-han x reader

Being Liu Kang's assistant wasn't easy but you loved being able to serve the people of Earthrealm. Liu Kang always had a mysterious aura around him but you never sensed anything evil. On the other hand, dealing with the Lin Kuei's new grandmaster was tiring. He was always trying to prove himself, went above and beyond, and said inconsiderate things. No denying, he was a very handsome and beautiful man, but after his father's passing, he was becoming ugly. He would never actually do evil things, but his execution of action was definitely weird. Speaking of the devil, his footsteps were easily recognizable. Big and bold, letting people know of his presence. 

"You come here often, Bi-han. Do I perhaps have something to do with that?" You scribble down his name and the time he got here. The chart was mostly just Bi-han or his brothers' names. Occasionally Geras, but he usually just appears in Liu Kang's temple unannounced. Bi-Han chuckles and crosses his arms. "You know that I am only here for Liu Kang." You look at him with playful doubt.

"He will be available in 3 minutes... Also, are you making that voice deeper for me?" You chuckle. An oddly low but endearing voice. You just like to tease him. He sighs. He clears his throat a bit before talking. "How much longer do I have to wait?" "I said 3 minutes, Bi-Han. What's so distracting, hm?" You tilt your head and try to look at him innocently. He inhales sharply from your demeanor. You smirk from his cute reaction. Liu Kang's hand appears in between the sliding doors and reveals a small smile on his face. "I see you two are getting along?" You think his question is rhetorical. He motions his head for Bi-Han to come in. The man clad in blue gives you a playful glare before shutting the doors behind him.

-

Scribbling on the sign-in paper was probably going to get you in trouble but you were dying from boredom. You huff and decide to erase the drawings. Quiet shuffling could be heard and you fix your posture. Familiar yellow and gray emerge. "Tomas! Kuai Liang! Here for your brother?" Tomas' face lights up from your call and Kuai Liang sends a small wave. "Yes, is he going to be long?" "They've been in there for quite some time now. How about we just chat 'till he comes out?"

30 minutes pass and finally Bi-Han emerges out of Liu Kang's doors. "Brother! What took you so long?" Kuai Liang stands with some worry. Him and Tomas were sitting across from your desk. Bi-Han pinches the bridge of his nose. "We were just discussing the new Protectors of Earthrealm. We will have to test them some time next week, to measure their strength and will." He seemed irritated about the whole thing. "Go. I have to talk with Y/N about making an appointment with Liu Kang beforehand." They shuffle away by Bi-Han's command.

"Couldn't stand to wait just 3 minutes with me alone, Bi-Han?" He sits where Kuai Liang was sitting moments ago. "Yes." His answer was curt but weirdly honest. "Oh? How so?" You feel his answer has more meaning to it. "I am the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. I won't stand for your teasing, Y/N." Bi-Han puts emphasis on teasing. "Teasing? Partially, I am teasing, but take a hint. I don't do this just for anyone." You use the same tone on teasing as Bi-Han did. His face scrunches in confusion but also tints with red. "Now. What day did you say you want that appointment?" His left caresses his face and has no answer. All you could do was chuckle. "Was I able to melt the stone-cold faced Bi-Han?" Moving his hand out of the way reveals his eyes looking into yours. His hair was tied up into a bun like always but had loose strands hugging his face. You push the ones on the right, behind his ear to take a good look at him. "I'm jealous of your beauty, Bi-Han." He stiffens from your comment. You give him a light peck on the cheek. 

"I'll call you about the appointment thing." Slightly regretting your action from Bi-Han's reaction, you decide to flee. That was the problem with Bi-Han. You never knew what emotion he was expressing. Clipping the sign-in sheet to your clipboard, you knock three times before opening Liu Kang's doors. "Your cheek was very cold." You point to your right cheek and close the doors. You saw him feel his cheek before you shut them. Closing your hand into a fist, you take his last minute reaction as a win. "Woo!" Quietly cheering with a whispered voice. "Perhaps getting along too well." You could feel Liu Kang's glare immensely. 

[tezret]

Couple Goals

Leona: You are the light of my life. The bane of my existence, the being i look upon fondly in the morning, the only person I will ever love like this.

You/Reader, holding his hands in yours as you two stare into each others eyes:

Leona’s Cousin: Quiet down! This is someone else’s wedding!

Leona: Shut the fuck up you ugly shit gremlin!

Leona, looking back at you fondly: So anyways-

The rest of his family watch as he recites his undying love to you, unbeknownst to them you and him planned this beforehand in order to annoy them all:

[yanderenightmare]

Since I just realized you also write for JJK, may I please ask how is Megumi in bed?👉🏼👈🏼 Thank you beforehand!

Fushiguro Megumi

TW: yandere, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, mental instability, mentions of injury, abuse, possessiveness, he's a bad one

POSSESSIVE DOM

He looks at you with the most deceptively pretty expression.

Long black lashes rest heavily, casting jagged shadows over the dark look in his deep blue eyes. That look of… you’re not entirely sure what, but you’d say you’ve seen it before on people who’ve found something they’ve been long in search of. A certain mix of relief and a building resolution to keep it close so as never to lose it. 

Coveting.

He would make you shy if he didn’t make you so scared. If behind that look of softness and adoration, there wasn’t something so very sick.

But Megumi makes you feel like a plant more than a person. 

He makes you feel so fragile. Not in how he can break you upon contact if he wanted to, but in how he handles you as though you’re but a dainty little flower, nothing but sheet-thin petals upon a brittle stem in the pot he’s placed you for your own good and protection. 

But you know better than to think he won’t hurt you if he feels the need to. The scars from when the hellhounds sank sharp unforgiving canines into your legs after hunting you down the first time you managed to run away from him never seem to heal - as well as the other million claw marks and nicks you have decorating your skin from the several additional failed attempts at keeping yourself from him.

It’s best you not give him the need to and stay put while he disillusions himself into believing that you’re truly his.

He barely speaks to you, barely regards you as something to talk to, eyeing you almost medicinally while stroking his hands up and down your smooth skin. Undressing you slowly - like it would be a shame to rush - like he’s worried he’d miss something if he went any faster. 

His soft fingertips glide ever-so-gently over your collarbones, feathering as though in mockery of what brutality he’s committed before, drawing the thin spaghetti straps of your dress down your arms until it slips off your hips into a little pool circling your feet.

He’s so silent you fear making a sound, scared it would annoy him while he concentrates on mapping every last bit of you under keen eyes, dragging his long digits upon your curves and over flecks of random beauty marks and scars he’s made that make up your fine body.

And it feels exactly like how one would handle a plant, holding it gently and eyeing it for disease or distress.

He’ll push his lips to your temple and give you a kiss, nose in your hairline while he breathes in and sighs heavily, his hands rubbing your shoulders while you struggle to keep your shaking to yourself and the tremble on your lip between your teeth.

He’ll stay close while undressing, eyes on yours while revealing his lean toned perfectly cut limbs, as though chiseled by a flawless hand and painted a fair unblemished alabaster like a statue carved in the image of a deity.

You feel spoiled next him, not ugly but... ruined.

You expect him to say something - he always looks like he might - but instead, he’ll just stare while laying you out flat with your back to the mattress. Kissing you tenderly and touching you just so. 

He might give himself away and squeeze your thigh a bit rough once sheathing himself, but it’ll quickly fall away to a gentle caress again while promptly coming to kiss the place as though to say sorry. Again, as though in mockery of all those times he’d done so much worse without even batting an eye.

He’ll be nothing but silent and slow, lipping at your skin without teeth. Touching you in the same fashion a shadow touches the ground - without a lasting print - just cold.

That’s how he is, most times. 

But there are days he’s different… 

Days you question if he’s at all the same person. As though someone or something else had been patiently lurking within the shadows inside of him, something that, on some days, grows tired of the dark and wants out to play.

On those days, you really do feel like nothing but a flower beneath a boot. Plucked - no, ripped from the ground - roots snapping beneath you while your stem’s strangled tight in a chokehold, soft juicy flesh so easily marred and marked when his teeth come out of hiding, making their presence known as he bites out distorted laughs that make you go so dizzy -reeling in shock- trying to wrap your mind about how in hell it can be the same man.

When he’s like that, he doesn’t treat you like you’re something to be neatly watered and nurtured but as though you’re something finally ready to be eaten.

He’s usually so calculated with everything, but it becomes as though his usual need for perfection loses all meaning, resulting in split-second impulses based purely on eager desires of wanton lust. And you can see it in his eyes -the pang of manic hunger- as though you’re something to be devoured.

It gives you such shivers, but it’s not really that he’s so rough that gets you…

What gets you is how loud he suddenly becomes. His arms snaked about your waist, holding you up with his hand on your throat, clutching it in a bruising deadlock as he rams into you from behind, his teeth on your shoulder and neck and cheek and ear -anything he can bite into and mark- growling all types of possessive words stating his claim on you. 

That if anyone ever dares try and take you from him, he won’t think twice before setting his hell hounds loose and making you watch as they tear the waste limb from limb, splitting flesh and breaking bones until only a lumpy puddle of pulp and blood is left.

And you, in his shadow, where you belong.

[visndcaitswhore]

AMAVI || Joseph Descamps (Mixte1963)

AMAVI (latin; The second-person singular imperfect of amare. Meaning: to love)

Veni   Vidi  Amavi

I came  I saw  I loved

The first day of school never made Gabrielle feel anxious; it was just school, after all. This time, however, she didn't want to be the first one in. She decided to let some time pass as she leaned on the wall of one of the buildings close to the school with a cigarette in her hand, watching a red-headed girl walk through the crowd of boys staring her down like she was some foreign entity. Scared to approach while also wanting to pounce.

"They are going to eat her alive," she mumbled to herself, her eyes never leaving the scene before her. Suddenly, she wished the cigarette break would last longer. But she tried not to back down; there was no point in feeling regret now that she was already here, and after she convinced her parents to allow her to try this out, Backing down wasn't something she ever did, anyway.

A few more girls gathered, greeting her as they passed her. It wasn't a big place; everyone knew almost everyone. Yet, when a blonde stopped next to her, Gabrielle realized she didn't know her. In fact, she had never seen her; if she had, she would remember simply because this girl had to be the most beautiful person she had ever met. Gabrielle wasn't ugly; everyone told her she was beautiful, but this girl was something entirely different.

"Are you going to attend here too?" the blonde girl asked, and Gabrielle had to blink a few times to stop her admiration before answering.

"Yes. Want to go in together?"

There was always one thing Gabrielle could depend on: that no girl wanted to be alone in a place surrounded by strange boys. And, like she expected, the girl nodded. Gabrielle nodded with a smile, threw her cigarette away, and offered her elbow to hold on. "I'll be your chaperone," she joked at the girls confused expression. "I'm already wearing pants, after all."

The blonde looked down to confirm that she was indeed wearing light pants and a button-up short-sleeved shirt, accompanied by a smirk. Gabrielle knew she almost looked like a boy, and her mom only allowed her to wear them if she let her hair down and didn't act like a crude boy. Hence, her dark hair was half down.

Finally, the girl hooked her arm around her own with a hesitant smile. "The pants look good. I'm Annick"

"Gabrielle"

Walking inside the school was easier with company, and both girls—as if they had talked about it beforehand—held themselves pridefully, were self-assured, and chatted like they weren't fully aware that they had pulled the attention of everyone in the yard. The small walk consisted of talk such as 'I like your dress' or 'They look so stupid looking like that'.

"Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell," mumbled a dark-haired girl when they finally reached the board to see their assigned classes and teachers.

The rest of the day was surely something; if Gabrielle had to use one word to describe it, she wouldn't be able to find it easily.

The first lesson was history with Mrs.Giraud. Climbing up the stairs, Gabrielle heard the red-haired girl tell the brunette that she wondered how bad Mrs. Giraud could be. "I heard she is a stuck-up bitch." Gabrielle said quietly, her pace matching theirs.

"Who told you that?" the brunette laughed.

"Someone from my neighborhood. He had some other words to use too, but I think I summed it up pretty well."

Soon she learned that the brunette was Simone, the new girl, and Michele, the butcher's daughter. She also learned that'stuck up bitch' wasn't enough to disappoint her teacher, who immediately shot her a look of shock and clearly disapproval when she spotted her attire. But she didn't say anything until she did.

Gabrielle found a seat at the back of the class and started getting settled, unaware of someone staring at her until they had all settled, and the teacher started talking when she spotted Annick at the front of the class. She was absolutely, totally, wholly scandalized by her seat next to a boy and promptly sent the boy to sit next to the 'boy with the long hair'.

It didn't take Gabrielle to realize she was talking about her, and her eyebrows shot up.

"In the list, I thought that we were getting five girls in this class. One of them turns out to be just a pretty boy." Mrs.Giraud spat out, and some laughed around.

"I'm pretty" Gabrielle mouthed

"She also called you a boy," said the boy who sat next to her.

"A pretty boy."

The boy that was sent to sit next to her was Henri Pichon, and he went to sit somewhere else the moment the next class rolled around. Latin, not her strong suite. History she could manage, but Latin not so much.

Annick, on the other hand, seemed to excel in that too, much to the displeasure of the teacher, who refused to call upon her even when she was the only one raising her hand. Gabrielle made a distasteful sound when the old man simply looked around like a lost donkey, trying his best to inspire a boy to raise his hand. And when one of them did raise his hand, he immediately gave him all his attention.

"I think the lady has raised her hand," the boy said, forcing the teacher's hand.

As Annick got up to say the answer, Gabrielle tried to subtly sneak a peek at the boy who was a few seats to her left as she moved her hair out of the way before quickly looking away when she made eye contact. Descamps was not someone she wanted to associate with during school hours, that was for sure. That is a testament she will circle back to at the end of the day, or even in five minutes.

A piece of paper started circling around the boys in class, and a boy got in trouble. Another reason to not even touch the papers Descamps gives around.

The rest of the day was calm, except for an incident at lunch hour, which of course involved Descamps. All the girls quickly realized he was one of the main troublemakers at the school and a constant annoyance. He was confident enough to present his art skills, but Simone shut that down easily, and Gabrielle added:

"Simone, don't be so hard on him. Poor thing has never seen real boobs before."

She winked when he glared at her.

Then the next hour rolled around. Catastrophic was one way to describe it. Descamps decides to concoct a prank on Michele, or maybe he was aiming at Simone. Gabrielle wasn't sure as she just watched him place a bucket of water on the door, which would fall on whoever opened it first.

"This is so stupid," she said, reaching to remove the bucket, only for Descamps to grab her hand and pull her aside.

"No, this is fun," he corrected, taking the extra measure of blocking the way with his body. Now, Gabrielle was tall, but he was at least half a head taller.

"You are going to get in trouble on the first day for being stupid," she said, pulling her hand back, aware of the fact that no one else seemed to do anything to stop him. A quick glance at Annick did her no good, as she also seemed reluctant to help out.

"Don't be a bore."

Not having enough time to do anything, Michele opened the door, and she was drenched in water. Gabrielle just shook her head. Some people laughed, some others just seemed sorry, and most of them focused their attention on Michele's chest. They couldn't see anything of value, just her bra, but to immature boys, that was enough.

Gabrielle went back to her seat when the English teacher entered the class, but not before she exchanged a glare with Descamps, who winked at her.

Bastard.

Now to the catastrophic part: no, Michele having her bra exposed to the whole class was not the catastrophic bit.

"Then Michele's brother came into the class. He started punching around, and Descamps got glass in his eye; he was bleeding a lot. They took him to the hospital; he might lose his eye, they said. And yeah, that's about it." Gabrielle smiled uneasily as her parents stared at her in shock, speechless. "Other than that, the day was pretty quiet."

"The boy lost his eye?" her dad asked.

"Maybe, yeah."

"Are you hurt?" Her mom's sharp eyes scanned her, inch by inch, for any scratch.

She shook her head.

No, she wasn't hurt. She had been walking to her seat when this happened, and someone pushed her to the side when Magnan started punching. She just watched, even when Descamps was on the ground, hand covering his eye to the Dean next to him.

"Joseph Descamps is the boy that lives right across from us, right? Your friend"

"Not my friend," she mumbled, closing her eyes in exasperation and falling back on the armchair.

"Weren't you together all the time a few years ago?"

Her dad, who just a week ago was swearing to God he had never seen these girls' Gabrielle was with, even though she had been hanging out with them for years and they had been to her house plenty, suddenly seemed to remember that one old friendship that has been almost completely dissolved.

She blinked, her nose wrinkled. "Yeah, like 2 years ago."

They almost kicked girls out of the school; there is no need to mention something like that. It might actually make her mother happy.

"I heard they almost banned girls from the school." Her mother quiped, trying not to sound too dissapointed at the fact it did not happen.

"So much for, uh." Her dad looked towards her to fill him in.

Gabrielle smiled. "Progressiveness."

Javier Blanc was a large man with a beard and a scary disposition. A man like that you would think was fit for sons, but alas, God gifted him girls—four, to be precise. In the last 15 years, since the birth of his oldest, he has heard it all, from 'Oh, maybe next time you will get lucky' to 'it's okay, girls are gifts'. Yet he listened to his girls rants and echoed them to the best of his understanding.

Her mother never really agreed with that disposition fully. Marie Blanc did, of course, want her daughters to become capable and marry good men, but she still wanted them to remain girls. So Gabrielle being taught boxing, being more inclined towards math, wearing pants, and walking with her hands in her pockets rubbed her the wrong way. Gabrielle, breathing alone, rubbed her the wrong way.

She didn't care when her younger three came inside the house with muddy shoes and clothes or when it was obvious her oldest showed more promise at violin than the rest did. They were babies, and they would continue to be her babies till they reached their 50s. Heck, Sophie was 13 years old already. Precisely two and a half years younger than Gabrielle.

Not that it hurt Gabrielle. It annoyed her that her mother never had anything purely good to say about her without a backhanded insult, but it didn't wound her. So she simply listened to her rant about Voltaire without saying much before deciding to go to bed.

"I have school tomorrow after all," with a snarky tone and a pointed look. Okay, maybe she wasn't the easiest child. Maybe she had a short fuse and held a grudge. That wasn't her fault. Her mother was like that, too.

Finally, alone in her room she couldn't resist to urge to pull back the curtain that covered her window, peeking at the room that also looked directly into her own from across the street. Descamps' room. Well, back then he was just 'Joseph' but it felt wrong to use his first name now. Gabrielle had been the one to stop calling for him to hang out, after all. But when they were kids, when their mothers would tack them in bed, the window would be their immediate destination. 

Even now, once in a while, they would throw cigarettes at each other if one of them had run short. 

There was no light in his room tonight, they must have kept him at the hospital for tonight. As Gabrielle was about to close the curtain, she spotted some movement in the darkness of his room that had her immediately shoot forward, ignoring the art supplies she had accidentally kicked since they had been resting on the wall. Her eagerness was something that would torture her for a few days, and she would thank her lucky stars that no one saw that. 

Especially when she realised that the movement was Descamps' mother, who seemed to be packing some of his clothes to take to the hospital when she suddenly froze, and by the fact that she put her hand on her face, Gabrielle could only guess that the woman was crying or she was just exhausted by the day. When the woman raised her head, and looked directly at her Gabrielle found out it was both. 

The woman managed a smile, and waved. Gabrielle mirrored her actions, closed the curtain and climbed in her bed, holding the covers close to her chest. She wasn't sure how long it took for her to fall asleep, at some point everything just got quite and dark.

[watchingyoufromthestars]

Finally cleaned this up so here’s my DnDads ultimate ship opinions list. I was waiting until after s2 ended to clean this up in case I had any final opinion changes with the last few episodes. Please don’t bash me for any of these. The DnDads fandom is generally very nice but shipping discourse is something that can get heated no matter the fandom.

Dads

Henry Darryl: very neutral. I understand the ship I just never fully got on the boat

Henry Glenn: absolutely fucking feral about them do not get me started on Glennry

Darryl Glenn: feral in a different way that I don’t know how to describe other than toxic yaoi in the way that they’re damaged but refuse to talk about it so they kiss about it instead

Loveeeeeeee polydads but only as Henry/Glenn/Darryl. Not really a Ron shipper I love him and Samantha too much. Ron and Glenn’s friendship is very important to me though

In terms of Jodie, I don’t really ship him with any of the main dads, ESPECIALLY not Glenn. Even if Jimmy didn’t play Jodie I’d still never ship them. Wish Scamster was real and not completely a scam because they’re literally a crackship become real except it was never a crackship before canon. It’s surprising to me that they weren’t really shipped beforehand

Henry Mercedes: THE T4T OF ALL TIME BABEYYYYY. Absolutely iconic couple, fate was in their favor with how they met they were destined for each other

Darryl Carol: After hearing how Darryl talked about his family in Heaven, I was actually really happy they ended up not getting divorced. They clearly had a rough patch as seen in s1, but they genuinely love each other and I love how devoted to her Darryl is. The little finger puppet he made of her in the time out zone… :,)

Glenn Morgan: GLORGAN!!!!!!!!! Oh my god these two tear me apart. I am feral for Glorgan angst there’s too much to work with. More people need to start calling them Glorgan instead of Morglenn please please please please pretty please indulge me in my silly ship name

Ron Samantha: sobbing. They’re so sweet. The distinction that Samantha is also a little silly is very important to me. They love each other so fucking much

Kiddads

Nicky Sparrow: didn’t realize how much I love them for a good while but when I did oh god I love them so so much. T4T it’s so real to me that they’re both trans

Nicky Lark: used to like it but yall mischaracterize Nicky so much in fics. If yall want toxic yaoi just ship Grant and Lark I’m so serious

Nicky Terry: sobs. They were best friends. I don’t personally ship them but the fact that Terry said he was his best friend… that line rattles around in my brain so often

Nicky Grant: recently learned this might get shipped and has THE coolest ship name. Crossfire I love you but for the ship name alone

Sparrow Terry: I think I’ve seen this shipped a few times but only in the context of Terry/Nicky/Sparrow. Not my personal cup of tea though

Sparrow Grant: I don’t see this shipped too often but they have the worst ship name ever /aff. Wtf is a spant lol. Also I’m too much team transfem Sparrow to feel comfortable shipping this

Lark Terry: do not know the appeal of Gun Control but their ship name is fun

Lark Grant: toxic yaoi central. They both need intense therapy but them both being so fucked up is what makes them interesting not that that’s healthy though

Terry Grant: I see them more in a qpr place than anything romantic. I have one fic of them that’s bookmarked on Safari because I think about a part from it from time to time

Don’t have any poly ships for them

In terms of s2 spouses I so desperately wished we could’ve seen more of them. We barely get to see them

Nicky Cassandra: Telling Taylor his dad was a good man and that she misses him every day makes me think they parted on good terms. But then Nicky disappeared because of FBI shit. In another life maybe they could’ve worked.

Sparrow Rebecca: more ugly sobbing. I’m unsure on my sparroace thoughts if they’d end up getting divorced post-finale but I know they’re not fully separating or breaking up. They really are in love but it’s unconventional and messy.

Terry Veronica: I think the reveal that Terry is infertile is a nice touch to their relationship. It sounds weird to say and I feel like I might word this all weirdly. Him being unable to have bio kids but finding love in someone who wants to raise a kid with him anyways. Veronica finding new love again after a supposedly abusive relationship. Both of those combined is something I really love.

Grant Marco: Canon gays ftw. The Titanic episode was so generous in letting us get to see their dynamic. Obviously Grant still has a long way to go in finding self love but I’m so happy he found someone who can support him and loves him back like this.

Teens

Normal Scary: ugly sobbing over them I love them so much. Cradling my madomagi and tma aus with them as madohomu and jmart

Normal Taylor: yearning for the early s2 days like when they went to Sonic and made some devious plan off screen I wish they had more silly interactions together. Was truly fed with the kareoke intro and them bonding over costume making for a minute. Tayloak could be so interesting if there was more material to work with

Normal Link: Childhood BFFs to Lovers; I wish they could’ve hung out more as kids but all that happened

Normal Hermie: I get the hype but I have personal reasons for feeling neutral on them that I wish I could get over. Good soup though /ref

Scary Taylor: see them too much as a sibling dynamic to ever ship them

Scary Link: respect to all y’all shippers but I do not gothcleats and will leave it at that forever. I can only accept the finale with my transfem Link hc

Scary Hermie: I love Scene Partners. These stupid kids and reflecting each other /aff

Taylor Link: one that I can’t believe I didn’t ship sooner they’re so silly

Link Hermie: I think this one is very funny (/pos) but not my personal vibe

Love love LOVEEEEEEEE Marloakworthy AUGH. A giant triangle of everyone paralleling each other

Polywagon I love you; cannot believe you’re real and genuinely canon. This is just Homestuck again when Hussie said all ships are canon (DnDads never beating the Homestuck allegations from me)

Scary Erica: wish there were more interactions I love Erica so much but alas she’s a guest NPC. “You awaken a lightness in me” sapphic ass Scary I know what you are

[endlich-allein]

Till Lindemann from "Rammstein" turns 60

Good man

Von Flake Lorenz

3. Januar 2023

Till Lindemann, "Rammstein" singer and lyricist, turns 60. Congratulations from his longtime friend and keyboardist.

Actually, one would not have to wait for a milestone birthday to honor this wonderful person. You could just pause and pay homage to the force of nature on any other evening. It may also be that Till Lindemann's birthday this Wednesday is not true. Even when Bravo reported about Rammstein for the first time in the early 1990s, our dates of birth were completely out of thin air. We were way too old for the Bravo target group back then, so the editors simply made us a few years younger. That wasn't a problem because the internet was still empty.

We soon realized that it doesn't matter how old you really are. Much later, when Rammstein became successful, being old was even better. You can deal more calmly with all that nonsense and enjoy your happiness in peace. Also, a person's age is just in the eye of the beholder, at least I don't know anyone who would call themselves old. On the other hand, I can still remember how, as a young musician, I couldn't calm down when I found out that the guitarist in a band I was friends with was over 30 years old. "He can still make music?" I asked. Men over 50 were half-dead, bleating grandpas in ugly brown clothes, they were every teenager's natural enemy.

It's 1986. Till turns up the system. I'm worried: What will the neighbors think?

Till seemed old to me when I met him. That was in the mid-1980s in East Germany. Till was not only older than me, in contrast to me he was already really grown up. He lived in his own house while I was still in my parents' room and didn't even have a girlfriend. I saw Till for the first time in 1986 in a Schwerin club after a Feeling B concert. I immediately noticed him: Till was a tall, strong man who on the one hand exuded natural authority, but at the same time seemed very shy. We didn't hesitate when he offered to take us home with him. His house in the country near Schwerin seemed like paradise to me, it was incredibly comfortable, probably because he had set it up that way himself; he had knocked out the walls between the rooms and left only the half-timbering. The volume on his system was turned up to the limit, the Sisters Of Mercy screamed from the cheap speakers.

I had never dared to do anything like this in my life. What would the neighbors think? When I wanted to play a song on the piano in between, Till simply carried it for me to another room where it wasn't so loud. At some point we all fell asleep where we sat and stood, like in Sleeping Beauty, and when I woke up the next morning, I imagined what it would be like if you always lived like Till. I really liked this idea.

Of course, his life wasn't a one-stop party. He also lived in the house because the argument with his father, who was not exactly frail, had escalated beforehand. Till had hit his father, the children's book author Werner Lindemann, with such a punch that he flew into the strawberry bed. Then Werner Lindemann threw Till's things out of the skylight. Life in a sports boarding school and training as a carpenter in Rostock were no fun either. Later, as a single father, Till lived with his daughter Nele in his nest, which in turn probably saved him from being drafted into the army. Till always seemed and always seems in a good mood to me – a bit like Obelix, of course not in terms of stature, for God's sake, he looks more like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but in terms of personality he's more like Obelix. Always according to the motto: "Friends, I have a plan, let's go here and there and break everything to pieces!"

Practical: He could change a wheel on the Trabi without using the jack

When the wall was suddenly open, Till drove to Lübeck with a couple of friends and spent all the West money he had saved and exchanged on gummy bears. He sat in a doorway and ate them all. Of course, he also manages a wild boar – it was an advantage back then that he lived so close to the railway embankment. When a waiter asks Till if he liked his food, he usually replies: "Yes, thank you, it was plenty." Incidentally, he also shares Obelix's great love of small dogs. Since Till is with (allegedly) Francis of Assisi, who wrote: "The dog remains loyal to me in the storm, man not even in the wind."

And like Obelix, Till seems to have fallen into a magic potion, because he really has tremendous powers.

At that time he could change a wheel on the Trabi without using the jack. In the old days, when we had to work as stewards at an open-air festival, Till just banged his fist through a car window to hold the driver down.

If Till sees any body of water, he immediately plunges into it and plows through it like a motorboat. He tucks the boxes that we carry in the studio or in the rehearsal room under his arm alone.

If a door is locked somewhere, he just sticks me through a second-story window so I can open it all from the inside.

I've never met anyone who is so pragmatic about music and lyrics. Till would never have originally thought of becoming a singer. Although he observed that musicians in Schwerin had a hit with women and then played drums in a punk band - but in all those years I really never had the feeling that punk music particularly interested him. An effective and well thought-out stage show was always more important to him. For example, Till once put chickens in the bass drum and only pulled the cloth away after the first song, causing the animals to tumble across the stage.

Cheering crowds, prizes and honours: All of this actually leaves him completely cold

When Till was supposed to sing with us, it was very difficult for him at first, because as a singer you can't hide behind an instrument or another musician. Then he put on welding goggles so that he looked like a friendly insect. Till sang beautifully, deeply and soothingly. We stopped worrying immediately. Everything would be fine. We just needed good lyrics. So Till sat down to write them. He never pretends to be a great artist who needs to express his deep feelings. He prefers to think about what else can be lit on stage (like me). The concerts used to be a lot of fun. At that time we always looked for an attractive village inn first, in order to eat as much as possible. Only then did we set up our stuff and play.

Till loves women - and women love him. But how he manages to go through his life completely free of any affectation, even after 37 years, still arouses deep admiration from me. Cheering crowds of spectators, prizes and honors actually leave him completely cold. Organizing a party for our entire crew seems to be more important to him than any concert. Incidentally, he has renounced his rights as a lyricist for decades, so that all six of us at Rammstein earn exactly the same. In any case, Till has extended the life of the band, because money is usually the trigger for a breakup. He, on the other hand, has a very decisive influence on our band with his lyrics and his voice.

So we can still successfully defend our small East German village. By Teutates! May the sky never fall on Till's head!

(I'm not sure of this whole translation so feel free to correct me)

[gortashs-skidmark]

Enver Gortash HEADCANONS

NSFW at the bottom, below the ()()()

+18 MDNI SEXUAL CONTENT

CONTENT WARNING: relationship headcanons, arranged marriage in some, manipulation, established relationship.

*Orange means that particular sentence/piece is CANON but the rest is a headcanon.

ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅

Gortash definitely doesn’t mind being a shit bag. But I think if he took a partner, he would just be manipulative emotionally but not physical. Like he chose a partnership and you just have to put up with some dumb fucking consequences of being in love, that's just how it is. I don’t think he’d shower you in gifts if he loved you but when he gave you something to cherish, it’d be personal, solemn, beautiful. Like him.

If it was arranged, he wouldn’t bat an eye, status is status. He’d only see you as an arm piece. He’d take you to dinner occasionally to check up on you. He would shower you in gifts at the wedding ceremony. For show of course, so your family, friends, patrons, and acquaintances knew you were in cushy hands.

I think Enver’s hands would always been warm. They’re calloused, warm, thicker, comforting when they held your face or braced your thighs. You would put lotion on his hands every night before bed because, you know, you care about him.

He is the man to take the same soap bar he uses on his body for his face, but this is medieval so him washing his face is high maintenance, comparatively. You only suggest he use rose water after he shaves as not to leave irritating skin patches. It makes him smell very sweet.

You are as soft as butter and he is a large man with a delicate hobby like baking, figuratively. His brutish in personality, is shrouded in fancy clothes and ugly ass shoes. But he can talk as calmly as a lake, and comfort you with honeyed words. You are capable of finding solace in him sometimes, if he lets you unburden yourself.

If it’s an arranged marriage, he will listen to your sorrows and complaints when he has time. Other times he’ll say “my dearest, I have not the time for your tears today.” Which breaks your heart. He's yours potentially forever, and he won't carry your burdens like you attempt to with his.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

NSFW HEADCANONS

He gives me very much the same energy as Raphael. Complete bottom. Probably not that good at fucking but he’s got some girth. Girth matters more than length, pls be honest with yourselves.

Not usually on top unless he’s teasing you a lot beforehand. He fucks loud too, verbally and from your bodies crashing over and over against each other.

Like Raphael has Harleep bc he’s a narcissist and they’re sent there by Mephestopheles to distract him. Gortash has you because you’re capable and seen as an equal. Whether you’re the nicest person on earth or the crudest bitch. If you can swindle like him, he sees something beautiful in that.

I think he’s loud and unapologetic during sex. He knows what he wants too and can voice is. He’s the “oh great heavens!” Type too.

Sometimes is a quickie-person, when he yearns for better company at night he removes himself from his workshop and walks to his room to have honey-sweet love, not fuck.

If you’re arranged marriage melds into more, I think he could be fixed. Very. Very. Slowly. You like to walk to the deep cragged shore of Wyrm’s Rock and watch the ocean and pet the moss. He doesn’t get it even if you have a reason to love being by yourself. You ponder harder about the timelessness of nature and the ebb and flow.

He fucks you soft and slow next time, taking the time like you do. He wants to know his partner, he really does. He uses it to stare into your eyes as they flutter from pleasure, he wants what you have. A soul so malleable yet it always know what it is deep down. It’s always whole.

ⓖⓞⓡⓣⓐⓢⓗⓖⓞⓡⓣⓐⓢⓗⓖⓞⓡⓣⓐⓢⓗⓖⓞⓡⓣⓐⓢⓗⓖⓞⓡ

Thank you for reading!! I have more headcanons on my pinned masterlist <3

[atopvisenyashill]

seeing how some greens act like rhaenyra being groomed by her uncle, and subsequently being unable to let go of him, is HER personal failure turned me into a rhaenyra extremist when i simply enjoyed her character beforehand.

im really glad you're speaking about it because even though it's fiction, it still perpetuates a very dangerous rhetoric

wait this gives me an excuse to ramble, pls excuse me if i phrase things maybe a little crassly here, it’s a delicate topic i’m speaking indelicately about but also, i think i should be allowed bc [redacted] BUT-

obviously i don’t like, love, some of the changes to the show but i think the first half does a great job of setting it up to where you can see both alicent and rhaenyra are surrounded exclusively by much older men who want to fuck them, and have just no way of knowing who is being genuine with them. because no one is really! so you have episode 4, where alicent is sleeping in a room with pornographic art on the wall and being called to her husband’s bed and she can’t say no, and he’s not going to do anything to make the whole thing even marginally easier for her. and then you have rhaenyra, pulled from her bed by her uncle to a brothel, and she’s completely exposed, and she’s experiencing new things, and he’s purposefully trying to make this feel good but also overwhelming for her, then abandons her drunk & confused & half naked. this is The Same Thing - they’re both being used and manipulated by a much older man, but because that manipulation looks different, they react different. but it’s still manipulation.

yes, the type of abuse is different when it’s like, your ugly ancient grandpa grooming you vs a handsome 30 year old stranger you met online that you tell all your high school friends is your boyfriend, but ultimately, both the grandpa and the 30 year old boyfriend are abusers but more importantly, the granddaughter and the high schooler are both victims!!! i think a lot of people when analyzing this whole thing, will pin daemon as a groomer but then completely forget that this also makes rhaenyra a victim. some people will even hee hee haw haw over it because “oh your feminist icon would rather marry her groomer uncle than her gay cousin in the book” DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF. could it possibly be that rhaenyra prefers daemon to laenor because daemon has manipulated her into thinking she is only free with him? she is only safe with him?? could it possibly be that he has been giving her gifts and taking physical liberties with her for her whole life, and being the Good Cop, Sweet Confidant to her parents Bad Cop her whole life, that she feels taken in by him because he is all she knows???? in the same vein that alicent just swallows all the poison and bullshit from otto because that’s her father, and his protection is all she knows????

honestly part of like ~the discourse~ that’s most frustrating is that most greens just refuse to see rhaenyra’s pov or see that she’s also a grooming victim grasping for power to protect her own children, again just like alicent, but on the flip side, most of the analysis from the blacks side is like “if you think nyra is a victim of grooming you are just as bad as the people calling her a whore for having children out of wedlock” and like, how do you even engage with that. with either of those opinions. you can’t wksjd so if youre, ya know, like a normal fucking person who can see how both girls are being manipulated, but you have like a fondness for nyra specifically, it’s just constant bad takes. there’s nowhere to go to escape the bad takes.

i thought we had already hashed out this idea that being aware or unaware of your victimhood doesn’t suddenly mean you’re not being oppressed during the main show with arya and sansa but no, we’ve actually just taken this exact same annoying fandom discourse about which teenage girl is dealing with being abused in the most acceptable way and made it a thousand times worse.

[jeonqkooks]

congrats, jen! can i request namjoon + “how mad would you be if i kissed you?” for your blogiversary event? <3

feather light | knj

pairing: namjoon x reader

rating: G

genre/warnings: strangers to lovers, fluff, barely any angst unless you count aerophobia as angst?, unedited bc that should be its own warning lol

word count: 1.1k

note: thank you so much for sending in a request!! it's been a while, i know, apologies for the delay!! for some reason i've always wanted to write a drabble where namjoon is a stranger on a plane hahahha i'm glad i was able to incorporate that idea into this request!! i hope you enjoy it heheh ☺️

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

If you’re being honest, you don’t recall much of February 24.

You remember boarding the plane, and finding your seat, and fastening your seatbelt, and gnawing on your bottom lip like chewing gum throughout the pilot’s announcement. It was a relatively short flight, only two hours from your city to the island where your friend’s wedding took place that weekend. Usually, you can handle short flights just fine. You just needed to take your meds beforehand and you’d be good to go.

Except, you’d forgotten them at the hotel, on the counter in the bathroom, before you headed for the airport.

Looking back now, was it divine intervention?

Maybe. The universe works in mysterious ways. You’ll never know for sure.

Then, as you internally freaked out in seat 17A, you just knew that life absolutely sucked. Your own brain was feeding you the most terrible thoughts and painting the most gruesome scenarios of all the things that could go wrong over the next two hours. 

It was great - truly amazing - that you only had your brain for company and nothing to distract you.

You hated every aspect of flying, but takeoff and landing might have to the parts you despised the most. When the plane rumbled to life and began to slowly move on the runway, your hands immediately slapped down on the armrests and held onto them for dear life. You remember squeezing your eyes shut and not even daring to take a breath, as if one exhale could send you and all the other passengers to the nether world.

You remember staying completely still for five whole minutes, until the plane settled into a smooth rhythm and glided through the clouds with ease.

You remember taking an experimental breath, but then something warm moved underneath your right palm and you almost screeched in horror.

You remember opening your eyes to find yourself clutching the hand of the person sitting in the seat next to yours. The events of that day may not be very clear in your mind, but the absolute mortification you felt in that moment still sometimes resurfaces to the front of your brain.

You remember scrambling to apologize for holding his hand hostage and not even realizing it. You remember watching him smile amusedly and reassuring you that it was fine. You remember his soothing voice as he told you that his little sister was scared of flying too, “It’s all good.”

You remember the dimples and the kind eyes that calmed your storm for a split second.

Maybe that’s the real reason why you don’t remember February 24 all that well.

Maybe it was something that you only read in books and watched in movies: Love, at first sight.

You remember your hands getting clammy and he mistook it for your fear rearing its ugly head again. He started talking, no doubt to help distract you from the fact that you were thousands and thousands of feet in the air.

Admittedly, you couldn’t really focus on what he was saying, just that he was telling you how he was getting back from a trip with his friends. Something about being an art collector, something about vitamin B powder…

You don’t even know what you replied to his questions and stories, if you even responded at all or if you just sat there, listening but not really listening.

The task of trying not to make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of this beautiful stranger got you through the better part of the dreadful two hours, until the very end.

When the plane shook, only once and it was just very light turbulence, but that was enough for you to spiral again.

Curse the meds that were probably thrown away by housekeeping at that point, and curse you for leaving them behind.

You were back to square one, even though there were only twenty minutes left to endure. Your hands gripped whatever they could find as a means to ground yourself, and it just so happened that his hands were nearby.

You remember his long and delicate fingers wrapping around your sweaty ones, holding your hand back.

You remember him telling you that everything was fine, that you were almost home.

“Breathe.”

“In and out. 1… 2… 3…”

“That’s it… It’s almost over.”

You remember his warmth not leaving your palm until the plane landed, and the other passengers started getting their luggage from the overhead storage.

When you made it back onto solid ground and inside the safety of the airport, you thanked him for putting up with you the past couple of hours. He said he was glad that he could help, and you asked for his name then, shyly.

“Namjoon,” he answered with a dashing smile. “I told you on the plane.”

You remember flushing with embarrassment once again.

You walked together outside, then stopped to stand in silence as each of you ordered your own Uber.

Yours arrived first, and Namjoon helped you put your suitcase in the trunk of the car.

Sure, you might not remember much of what happened on February 24, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re sitting here, in the waiting lounge of that same airport three and a half years later. This time, you remember to bring your meds, but nevertheless, your leg still bounces in anticipation of the flight you’ll be boarding soon. Until his hand lands on your knee to soothe your nerves, and his voice is clear in your ears.

“Stop that,” he chuckles. “You’re making my seat vibrate.”

You shoot him a glare and your best pout. “I can’t believe you’re making me fly on our anniversary. I should be so mad at you.”

He laughs then, gentle hand moving from your knee to interlace your fingers, diluting this “anger” of yours that’s already as non-existent as it is.

“How mad would you be if I told you that we can do whatever we want for the next five stress-free days? Fancy hotel spas, lounging by the pool all day, dinners right on the beach… I even called your boss and asked for two more days off if you want to stay longer.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, but he sees right through you. “Still very mad.”

He narrows his eyes playfully, squeezing your hand because he knows he’s already forgiven. “And how mad would you be if I kissed you? My kisses always make you feel better, mhmm?”

You remember that feeling you had on February 24, when you saw him smile for the first time.

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 11.03.2023]

[eustasskidagenda]

☆Event - Advent calendar: Hot chocolate or gingerbread? 

Hi there☆ This is my first event so I'm a bit nervous lol. I hope it won't be too messy and you will like it :D But I really wanted to thank you all for the 140+ followers. Since December is slowly approaching, I thought it would be fun to have an advent calendar. I know I'm posting this early, but I want to write the texts beforehand and have the time to write them all without any pressure! ( ^◡^) 

☆details

Be polite when requesting. It's really rude to receive messages without a 'hello' or 'thank you'.

Please, also precise you're requesting for the event and not for a normal request.

Give me one OP character, one prompt number, and let me know if you're okay with modern AU or not. If you pick more than one character, I’ll choose my personal favorite in the list.

You can include some details you would like to see in the fic and, for n/sfw requests, please precise if you want some specific kinks (click here to see the kinks I won't write) 

Don’t forget to specify the gender of the reader, otherwise I'll go for a g/n reader. I won’t accept request that basically describe an oc.

For a smut request, please use off-anon and make your age easily accessible on your blog. Don’t be shy, I won’t judge you♡ If you're uncomfortable, I won't show your name on the post. Just let me know if you want to stay anon.

This event will remain open to requests as long as slots are still available

To keep the fun of an advent calendar, the fics will be updated in a non-predictable order. So maybe I'll post the 7 prompt for day one, who knows.

Some prompts are only sfw (the hot chocolate ones), some are only nsfw (the gingerbread one), and for some, you can choose if you want the fic to be smutty or not. 

☆all the characters you can ask for this event:

Buggy, Corazon, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Eustass Kid, Hawkins, Izou, Killer, King, Kiku, Kuzan, Luffy (only sfw prompts with Luffy), Marco, Mihawk, Nami, Portgas D. Ace, Rob Lucci, Robin, Roronoa Zoro, Sabo, Sanji, Shanks, Smoker, Trafalgar Law, Usopp, X Drake, Yamato (he/him) 

Characters I won't write for: Blackbeard and Blackbeard crew, Brook, Roger, Kin'emon, Kanjuro, Franky, Benn, Akainu, Kizaru, Apoo

⇢ if the character you would like is not on one of those lists, just ask in a comment and I'll let you know!

☆Hot Chocolate 

Let's decorate the home together 

First time at the rink

Catching a cold after the first snow

Let's cook the Xmas dinner together

Hot wine and Xmas market 

Let's build a snowman 

Build-a-bear together

Night walk and city illumination

Adopting a dog/cat together 

Building a gingerbread house 

Snow angel and shooting stars

☆Gingerbread

Santa Claus costume

Ginger & aphrodisiac 

An unexpected gift

Have you been good or naughty this year?

Are you wearing something under this apron?

Let's start our "good resolutions" early

Are you cold? I'll warm you up 

Human chocolate

☆Hot chocolate or gingerbread? 

Snowball fight 

First Xmas together and ugly sweaters 

Relaxing in front of the fire 

Painting baubles together 

Look, there's a mistletoe  

Hot spring 

☆Exemple of request with all the needed informations

"Hi (I totally agree with the Kid agenda), for your event, I'd like to ask for the prompt 3 of the hot chocolate list, with Kid (obviously), g/n reader. I'm fine with modern A/U. Tyyy"

"Hello, I’m here for the event. I'd like to ask for the prompt 3 of the gingerbread or hot chocolate list. I'd like to have a gingerbread fic with Law and *add a list of kinks you like here*, no modern AU please, afab reader, thank you &lt;;3"

Thank you…(´人｀●)SOOOOO━━＼(´∀｀●)／━━MUCH!!

[hum-suffer]

We'll say hello again (Nevermind the chasm between us) 7

When she comes to, Gauri hears the voices first. It's Maa and uncle, maa is whispering-yelling and uncle is shouting.

"My son is feeling guilty for the inability of this girl to ride a simple animal!" Uncle snaps,"He hasn't spoken, he asks about her every hour! His birthday is ruined because of this attention seeking girl!"

"Whatever do you mean, husband?" Maa whisper yells at him, sounding just as furious,"Would my daughter want to fall and drown? Would any sane person? The lengths that your imagination goes to!"

She hears a clacking of shoes, and uncle speaks in a dead tone,"If she was so sane, why did she not get off the horse beforehand?"

"We have witnesses, including our son, who say that she was trying to get off when her horse lurched! Stop trying to make a little girl a villain, husband."

Uncle huffs. She doesn't hear more but the shoes clack again, this time going further. Maa's hand comes to Gauri's hair and her caress feels like home and acid all in one.

Does everyone really think that?

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

The next time she wakes, her head is in someone's lap. Gauri is forced to open her eyes this time.

Bhalla.

She's in Bhalla's lap.

He's looking down at her in worry and surprise. "Bahu, get maa! She's awake."

"Gauri." Bahu sounds absolutely wrecked and when she looks over at her right, his eyes are red and his hair is a mess. He leans over and presses a kiss to Gauri's forehead.

Gauri smiles at him, tries to raise her hand to caress his face but the burning jolt of pain that sears through her makes her curse. Looking down, she notes the ugly bruise and the unnatural swelling at her right wrist.

Oh.

Bahu scrambles off the bed, presses a quick kiss to her knuckles and rushes out of the room.

"I'm so sorry, Gauri," Bhalla says, squeezing her left hand softly. "I did not intend for any of this to happen."

"It's not your fault, brother," she says, squeezing his hand back. "I'm sorry your birthday was ruined because of me."

He scowls at her. "Stop saying things like that, it's not your fault that your horse suddenly became a brat."

"So, it's not your fault, either." She says with finality. He doesn't reply and Gauri sighs, craning her neck to look at him. "Bhalla, brother. Trust me. Whatever happened to Ratan, isn't your fault."

"I insisted we go there."

"And I would do anything for you in a heartbeat." She releases his hand and raises her left hand to his face, caressing his uneven stubble,"You are my brother. You were happy to be in the forest, I know you were. I would gladly do everything and anything to keep you happy, Bhalla."

He leans down and kisses her forehead. "I love you," he says, sounding choked.

Gauri laughs,"I love you more."

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

Her wrist is fractured. It will take three months to heal.

Bhalla is extremely angry— at Ratan, at Bhairavrath and at that foot soldier who scared Ratan worse.

They're in a small council room; their family, Bhairavrath and Katappa. The foot soldier has already been suspended from his job for a month. The liberal punishment makes her think it was her uncle's idea, with the way he is extremely relaxed and says the meeting is unnecessary.

"You have saved the life of the only princess of Mahishamati." Maa says, voice firm and clear,"You deserve a reward."

Bhairavrath bows his head as he's kneeling. "I have only done my duty towards my princess, Rajmata. It is unnecessary to reward me."

Bhairavrath spares her a glance and Gauri feels everything that he does. The reverence, the stricter amusement, the discomfort of the attention, the duty.

He is a weapon, Gauri thinks, breathless at her own epiphany. A beautiful, glided weapon, made with utmost care. Powerful, purposeful and dangerous— he is a trishul and Gauri wants nothing more than the power to wield his prowess.

He looks at her, head down and gaze upward— there's a gleam in his eyes and amusement and challenge sparks off of him in waves that Gauri can feel even at a distance.

The gratitude in her grows wings.

"Make him my sworn sword," she says, eyes never leaving Bhairavrath. "He has proved himself trustworthy and daring. He has the intelligence and loyalty." Finally, she looks at Maa. "There is no better reward."

Bahu raises his eyebrows,"You want to reward his momentary bravery with everlasting trust?"

Gauri smiles— a smile of teeth and arrogance. They don't see the importance he holds. None of them do.

"He saved my life, brother." Bhairavrath sucks in a breath at that,"He deserves such trust."

Bhalla scowls. "And what if he turns out to be a traitor?"

Gauri chuckles, the idea is absurd. "He won't." She's seen how much dedication he has towards his sword. If he puts his sword in her service, he's never going to dishonour her and never let her be dishonored.

If he is her sworn sword, she has every honour that he will give to his sword.

Maa looks at Bhairavrath in question.

He quickly bows his head again. "I am honoured beyond words at your command, my princess. I will do whatever you deem fit."

"It is decided then," Maa says. "Katappa, as the commander of the royal guard, you must teach him his duties and schedule. Gauri, coordinate your schedule with him. Draw up a contract. Bhairavrath, I trust you know the words to the oath?"

Bhairavrath nods. He rises from his position and walks towards the arm chair where Gauri is sitting and kneels in front of her. He places his sword at her feet. She distantly notes it is not of the quality that Katappa has but it gleams sharply.

"I, Bhairavrath Prabhu, swear on Mahadev, my blood and my sword, that I will always honour Princess Gauraangi Devi to the last of my days. I will protect you, serve you and perform every command you ask of me. I swear to protect your honour and person, I swear to kill and die in your stead. So I've sworn, and may Mahadev strike me dead if I stray from my oath."

Her heart beats wildly at his variation. He added her honour to his oath—it is not customary.

Gauri decides to break traditions as well.

She leans downward and swipes her left thumb across his blade and uses her blood to do a tilak on his forehead.

"I, Gauraangi Devi, swear on Mahadev, my blood and my sword that I shall always honour your oath. I will respect you as you deserve and I will never ask a task of you that will bring you scorn. You are my protector and sword, thus, I will be your defender and shield. You shall face no stigma under my service. So I've sworn, and may Mahadev strike me dead if I stray from my oath."

There are tears in Bhairavrath's eyes as he looks at her. "My princess," he says,"you did not need to—"

She nods at him, feeling the gazes of her family acutely on her,"I know. However, if every master swore to keep the dignity of their server, this world would be a more honourable place."

Gauri lifts her eyes to Katappa, who is looking at her with pride and tears in his eyes. Maa caresses Gauri's shoulder and gives her a proud smile.

"Rise, Bhairavrath."

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

The next day, Gauri sits at the side of the courtyard to practise her sitar. She uses her left hand to play it and can play it well enough by putting it in her lap.

Bhairavrath is sparring with Bahu and Bhalla is again sparring with Katappa. Bahu seems intent on testing Bhairavrath.

Gauri shakes her head, intent to talk to her twin about his conduct with her sworn sword. He is protective of her, she knows, but his manners must never be amiss, especially in regards to someone she has sworn to shield. He knows that she is particular about her words— she will have to reiterate.

It's when she's almost finished with her practise that an arrow flies towards her, and Gauri ducks out of the way. Her eyes narrow at Bhalla and Bhairavrath— the previous culprits.

Bhalla raises his hands in surrender and glares towards Bhairavrath. Bhairavrath shrugs.

"The enemy will not wait for your hand to heal, my princess."

"Aren't you getting more audacious by the day, Bhairavrath?" Gauri asks him, amused by his bluntness as she somehow manages to put away the sitar and stand up. He ducks his head, fastidiously ignoring the way Bhalla and Bahu both are glaring at him.

Bahu opens his mouth and Gauri shoots him a look. He closes his mouth.

"I apologise if I've crossed my limits, my princess," Bhairavrath says passively as she nears him,"But you are a warrior as well. I pray that you never have to see a battlefield but if you do, no enemy will be kind to you because of an injury."

"What is your use if she has to fight battles?" Bahu asks, still scorned.

Gauri raises her eyebrows,"What is the use of Mama if you two have to train to fight?"

"We're princes, Gauri," Bhalla says while Bahu colours in embarrassment. "We must be prepared to fight. Who will fight for the King who doesn't enter the battlefield amongst them?"

Gauri counters,"And I am a princess, Bhalla. Who will fight for a Queen who doesn't enter the battlefield amongst them?"

Bhalla actually chuckles and a shimmer of fury burns in Gauri at his tone as he speaks,"You're going to go to some other place after being married, Gauri. And your husband will be responsible for battles. Mahishamati is a Kingdom, not a Queendom."

"Who cares about the rules of old ideas?" Gauri says,"Even if I don't rule this kingdom, I will rule some other. And I'm no damsel, waiting for a defence. Bhairavrath is no immortal. He will serve me for all his days, but I will not rely on only him for my protection."

Katappa nods. "Gauri is right here, Bhalla. She trains with you to fight because she is a warrior too. She is a princess and it is her duty to protect her people as much as it is yours. Not only Gauri but you two must also learn to fight with both hands."

Bhall lightly stomps on Gauri's foot. "Did you really need to do this?"

She elbows him, hard. "Yes, you brat."

"I will break your other hand."

"I will throw you off a cliff."

Before Bhalla can retort, Bahu shoves the two away from each other. "Children, please!"

Gauri spies a smile on Bhairavrath's face and rolls her eyes. "Since you had this brilliant idea, why don't you tell me how I suddenly use my non-dominant hand as proficiently as my dominant hand, Bhairavrath?"

He bows his head, that audacious smirk in place. "As my princess commands."

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

They start with laathis. Gauri feels like a child but tries to grip a laathi as she would with her right hand. The grip feels wrong, even as she tries to balance it between her fingers. It's not the same, her fingers tremble at the weight of it and she feels pathetic.

It's only her and Bhairavrath in the courtyard for now, as the sun starts setting down. He seems to hold himself with ease and a burn of envy goes through Gauri.

He encourages her and Gauri tries to strike the grass doll as hard as she would with her right hand but her force isn't even enough to knock out the thing— while she would have previously wrecked it with one strike.

"Let's try again." He says, and comes at her right. "Look at my hand, princess." His left hand is holding the laathi as his right often holds his dagger. There's no awkwardness. He loosens his grip and tightens it again to show Gauri how his slender fingers grip the laathi.

"Take a deep breath, my princess. You are too worried about your performance." She raises her eyebrows at him incredulously but he doesn't seem to care, eyes on how she grips her laathi. She takes in a deep breath, forcing her shoulders to relax and her arm muscles loosen. "That's good. Now, do what you do with your right hand— same grip, same pressure."

"Oh, thank you, that is such great advice, Bhairavrath!" Gauri huffs sarcastically and hears his snort but doesn't pay attention to him as she adjusts her grip, the pressure on the laathi decreasing.

He raises his hand and she mimics the motion, feeling the trembling start in her finger tips again. "Focus on what you want to inflict, my princess," he says,"don't focus on what you feel."

Gauri nods and waits for another instruction.

"Hold your hand like that for as long as you can," he says,"but shift your legs, you are leaning too much on your right side."

She shifts. "Has anyone ever told you that you are a bad teacher?"

"As you are my first student; no, my princess." He snarks at her, that goddamn audacious smirk in place. Gauri rolls her eyes.

She lets her left arm fall down as he begins to feel it tremble as a whole. "I can't change my ways suddenly, Bhairavrath," she tells him as he puts away the laathis,"I'd have a better advantage if I had learnt it from childhood, but this sudden shift is throwing me off kilter."

Bhairavrath hums.

"Tell me, my princess, is there any task you do in which you particularly use your left hand more?"

"Sewing," she says, leaning against a wall, waiting on him. "I play the sitar with my left hand as well." She doesn't tell him, but she applies her kohl better with her left hand as well.

Bhairavrath hums as he returns to her side, keeping himself an arm's reach behind her as they begin to walk towards her rooms. "You weren't taught to give your right hand a preference in these activities, correct?" She nods, shooting a glance at him over her shoulder. "Your bias for your right hand leaves you feeling unable to fight with your left. You must first acknowledge that your left hand is just as capable as your right."

Gauri hummed. "Why don't you walk beside me, rather than behind me? I find conversations are more comfortable this way."

She stops and turns and he stops walking as well. His jaw locks in place. "I cannot breach my limits and walk beside you, my princess. I am meant to walk behind you."

"Let's strike a deal," she says, beginning to walk backwards. She knows the palace like the back of her hand, she can navigate the place blindfolded. Walking backwards is no big deal, but the way Bhairavrath's eyes widen, she knows she has made the impact she wanted to. "You will walk behind me when we are in company. When alone, you will walk with me." She sees Bhairavrath opening his mouth to protest and speaks over him. "It's that or I walk backwards while facing you in order to save my neck some cramps."

He nods reluctantly and Gauri waits for him to catch up to her. "No one has felt the need to make conversation with me before, my princess. I apologise if I was rude in any manner."

"Well, I like to converse with persons close to myself."

____________________________________________________

Part 6

Tagging: @alhad-si-simran @vijayasena @multifandom-boss-bitch @o-merebholebalam @satanicallysatanicchild

[archivistofnerddom]

The Bad Batch and Winter Holiday HCs

Because, why not? If the Bad Batch were to live in a random neighborhood, you know they would be here to do all the winter holiday/Christmas thing. So, here we go!

Tech and Wrecker team up to do all the exterior decorations. Things are about amazing as you’d expect them to be. There’s a light show (complete with music), several decoratively placed blow-up lawn (and roof) ornaments, and garlands galore.

Echo put the kibosh on them including fireworks in the light show. They don’t need a repeat of last year’s fight with their (not-so-)friendly neighborhood Karen. (He’s getting them a permit to do a New Year’s/end of the holiday season fireworks and light show as a surprise Christmas present. Just don’t tell Hunter.)

Omega convinces Hunter that they should all have their own trees to decorate to their personal tastes. He pretends to put up a fight and say that they don’t have enough space for that, but relents. (The smell of fir trees is soothing to Hunter, so he doesn’t mind having several trees around the house.)

The sheer variety of ways that the Batch decorate their individual trees is epic.

Omega’s tree has all of the ornament that they’ve made for themselves and each other over the years. She calls it the family tree, and she’s right.

Crosshair’s tree somehow has the most intricately designed ornaments on it and is universally agreed upon to be their holiday photo tree.

Echo’s tree is chaotic enough to make Fives proud. There is no rhyme or reason for his decoration choices.

Hunter goes for a classic look for his tree. It’s surprisingly quite fancy and becomes their dining room tree.

Wrecker’s tree is the living room tree. All of the wrapped presents go under it. It’s an eclectic combination of great vintage ornaments, fun lights (think bubble lights and snowball lights), and warm cheer.

Tech’s tree, of course, winds up on the roof and is part of the exterior light show.

Baking for the holidays is a three day affair. Wrecker and Omega have the best time decorating all the cookies and putting together treat bags for their friends and family as gifts.

Tech does a customized holiday light set-up for their cars. No, he will not ask you if you’re okay with him doing that. You’re getting this set-up. It’s up to you if you want to use or lose the extra decorations that Omega added (like bows and antlers).

Crosshair makes it his personal mission to mess with the neighborhood Karen whenever she complains about their decoration choices. The Grinch replica that wound up *just* on the other side of her property line totally wasn’t his doing. (The fact that he spends the bulk of the holiday season in Grinch sweaters and hoodies is completely coincidental and not at all planned.)

Hunter makes sure they get their yearly family photo around this time of year. He changes the outfit theme every year. The one time he tried to get everyone to dress nice was a near-disaster.

The rotating theme happened because the one year Hunter wanted them to dress up nicely, Crosshair, Tech, and Wrecker all showed up in ugly sweaters without even talking to one another beforehand. The sheer hilarity of that kept it from being a complete disaster. Ever since then, at least one person shows up in an on-theme ugly sweater for the holiday family photo.

Echo and Omega are responsible for their Christmas cards every year. They’re the only ones responsible enough to do that — mostly because they can keep the cards on trend for the holidays.

For as chaotic and messy as it is, Hunter’s favorite part of the holidays is their family gift exchange. Everyone is in comfy PJs, drinking coffee and hot chocolate, and passing around gifts.

Wrecker is responsible for their big family dinner. While everyone helps get ready for that with decorations and setting the table, he’s got everything going on schedule in the kitchen. He loves seeing how much his family and their guests appreciate his cooking.

One year, Omega (with help from Crosshair) made customized stockings for everyone. Those are the stockings that the Batch has used every year since.

Getting a handmade stocking from Omega becomes a mark of true honor and love among their extended family and friend group.